


take care of this monster

by whatsupbitches (Larkin)



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Drugs, Episode Related, Glory Hole, M/M, Orgy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 02:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larkin/pseuds/whatsupbitches
Summary: “I’ve been trying to get into the anonymous-sex thing lately,” says Dennis.The dude’s eyes trace up and down Dennis’s body; he looks at Dennis and fingers the air. “I like this, by the way,” the dude murmurs. “This is a sweet duster.”The dude (Dennis realizes, with a little thrill, that they still don’t know each other’s names) steps into Mac and Dennis’s apartment. No: Dennis’s apartment. Mac doesn’t live here anymore.[Or: what was actually the deal with Dennis and his mysterious new roommate, Eurotrash Jan? Set during "Mac and Charlie Die."]





	take care of this monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shipwrecks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwrecks/gifts).



> Takes place from the end of "Mac and Charlie Die: Part 1" through the entirety of "Mac and Charlie Die: Part 2," and much of the dialogue is taken from these episodes. There are also frequent references to the preceding episode, "Mac's Banging the Waitress." (Can you believe they all happen in a row? That was one hell of a week for the MacDennis relationship.)

When Dennis learns that Mac and Charlie are dead, he starts drinking and doesn’t stop. The first three whiskey shots relax him into rage; warmth numbs his body as he waves around his shot glass screaming that he’s not going to burn the duster, he’s not going to name his firstborn child after Robocop, and Mac isn’t going to boss him around from beyond the grave. He does another shot, and another, and then he loses count. At some point he drives home (he’s very skilled at drunk-driving, Mac always says so -- always said so -- and that fire hydrant comes out of _nowhere_ ) and opens a beer. By this point he feels nothing. Good. He drinks a second beer and feels even more nothing.

One moment he’s sitting up on the couch and his eyes are open; the next, he’s on the floor and his eyes are closed and Mac’s voice is saying “ _I would never say it to his face, but Dennis has great thighs_.” Charlie is saying, “ _Well, Mac’s gay_ ,” and Dennis’s pulse is racing as he bites his fist and says “ _This is twisted_.” Was that just last week? Well, Dennis always suspected; there was always something. But for the last week Dennis has been timing his showers so Mac will see him cross the apartment naked with a towel around his waist, and every time, feeling the gentle press of Mac’s eyes on his body, Dennis bursts into a cloud of glitter.

He opens his eyes thinking _I’m so beautiful_ and then, a second later,  _Mac’s dead_. The sun is streaming through the windows and his cheek is carpet-burned. He’s still drunk, but he could be drunker. That alone is incentive for him to drag himself off the floor in search of more whiskey. His hands shake as he opens the bottle; he winces as he swallows. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s nothing.

*

Because Dennis is very skilled at maximizing the efficiency of his alcohol consumption, he’s still drunk at Mac and Charlie’s funeral, and so he continues to feel nothing when he hears their voices in the wall and puts it together that they’re not really dead. It’s so irritating when Dee is right. The duster clings heavily to his skin, smelling like mothballs and Mac and stale sweat and Mac and flame-retardant chemicals and Mac. Dennis can’t stop touching it, adjusting it, wrapping it tighter around himself.

“I need a ride home,” says Dee.

“Can’t do that, sis,” says Dennis stagily, like the very skilled actor he is. Can Mac hear him through the wall? He raises his voice. “Gotta get back home ASAP and meet a couple potential new roommates.” He adds, practically yelling, “ _Hot_ ones, you know what I’m saying?” He laughs, and the duster billows out behind him as he strides out. “It’s time to move on!” he shouts.

Driving home, Dennis tries to picture his new roommate. Tits. _Big_ tits. Maybe there will be two of them. Two new roommates, that is. That would really show Mac, wouldn’t it?

Dennis pulls into a Dunkin Donuts parking lot, parks in the handicapped space, and jacks off. He comes into his hand and wipes it off inside the sleeve of the duster. Take that, Mac.

*

Dennis is drunk again (or still drunk) and still wearing the duster (his own dried-up cum crusty against his elbow) and stuffing Mac’s belongings into a trash bag (take that, Mac) when there’s a knock at the door. _I’m gonna bang the shit out of whoever that is_ , Dennis thinks, and he’s so sure of it that he forgets to stop thinking it even after he opens the door to a dude.

The dude is slender, and twitchy like he’s on something. But something good, probably. He reeks of way too much cologne; Dennis doesn’t recognize the scent, but when he hears the dude’s European accent he decides that it must be some high-end European fragrance, and that he doesn’t hate it.

They chat for a minute, and then the European dude lowers his voice. “I’m gonna be up front with you,” he whispers. “I run with a pretty wild crew.”

(Mac won’t hear this, not even if he’s listening through the wall. This moment is just for Dennis.)

“There’s probably gonna be chicks over here, like, all the time,” says the dude. “I’m into some pretty crazy shit.”

Dennis is drunk and unsure how they even got on this subject. But he laughs to show he’s into this, into wild chicks and crazy shit. He’s kind of horny now, in fact, just thinking about it.

“Here’s the best part,” says the dude. “I don’t even know most of their names.”

Dennis snaps to attention. This is what Dennis wants, what he’s been craving ever since he found the glory hole. No, before that. Ever since… _I would never say it to his face, but Dennis has great thighs_. ...well, for a while now, anyway. Sex without names. Without faces, even. _This is twisted._ Sex he can disappear into. Sex that swallows him up like a black hole.

“I’ve been trying to get into the anonymous-sex thing lately,” says Dennis.

The dude’s eyes trace up and down Dennis’s body; he looks at Dennis and fingers the air. “I like this, by the way,” the dude murmurs. “This is a sweet duster.”

Dennis bursts into a cloud of glitter and says, “Do you want to have a drink with me?”

The dude (Dennis realizes, with a little thrill, that they still don’t know each other’s names) steps into Mac and Dennis’s apartment. No: Dennis’s apartment. Mac doesn’t live here anymore.

*

It turns out the dude’s name is Jan and he doesn’t mess around. On his first official day as Dennis’s roommate, he throws a sex party.

“I told the girls it starts at eight,” says Jan, spraying himself with cologne -- Bulgari Black, Dennis has ascertained -- even though he’s already wearing enough that Dennis can smell him across the room. It smells like black leather, black rubber, the inside of the type of sex shop that Dennis would never walk into sober. Dennis wonders if it would be gay to ask Jan to spray some on him.

“What should I wear?” Dennis asks. “What does a guy wear to his first orgy?”

Jan looks sideways at Dennis and grins. “So this is your first time, huh?”

“No,” says Dennis quickly. “Hell no. I just mean, you know, it’s _our_ first orgy.” Wait, that sounds way worse. “I mean, as roommates,” he adds.

Jan crosses the living room, puts a hand on Dennis’s arm. Dennis inhales and tastes cologne droplets on his tongue, bitter and alcoholic.

“You look good, Dennis,” says Jan. He says Dennis’s name like _Denise_. “Don’t worry so much, okay?”

“I’m not worried,” says Dennis.

There’s a clatter of light feminine knocks at the door. As Jan goes to let the girls in, Dennis grabs the vodka -- Jan’s choice, they’ve stocked up for the party -- and takes a swig right from the bottle.

They shepherd the giggling girls into Dennis’s bedroom -- the orgy will take place on Dennis’s bed, since it’s king-sized. Jan has set up disco lights and electronic dance music so the room feels like a tiny nightclub. There’s champagne, and more vodka, and one of the girls has brought an impressively fat baggie of coke.

“Dennis!” says Jan, yelling over the throbbing music. “You ever licked coke into a girl’s asshole?”

“Yeah, tons of times,” lies Dennis, who’s lost track of how much vodka he’s swigged by now. “I’m over it.”

As Jan buries his face in a girl’s ass, another girl hands Dennis a mirror and a straw. Dennis rails a line, and then another line, and then he’s ready to fuck. “I’m ready to fuck,” is what he says -- okay, shouts -- and Jan laughs. “Yeah, that’s the idea,” says Jan.

The room is already muggy as shit and it’s a relief to get naked, but it takes Dennis an awkwardly long time to get out of all his clothes. By the time Dennis is fully undressed, Jan and the girls are writhing in a sweaty flesh pile on the mattress. Dennis hovers at the edge of the bed, feeling strangely like he’s looking for a cafeteria seat on the first day of high school.

“Hey, don’t be shy,” says Jan, seeing Dennis’s hesitation. “Jump in, jump in!”

Dennis crawls onto the bed and slides in amongst the bodies -- so much skin, all of it slippery and filmy with sweat. He fumbles around and gropes the nearest pussy; he isn’t even sure which body it belongs to until he hears the corresponding moan. Shit yeah. He slides a finger in, and another. With his other hand he grasps at another girl’s tits and squeezes. Feeling no resistance, he lightly slaps; his sweaty palm wetly goes _splat_ against her sweaty sideboob.

The coke is really kicking in now, tingling and sparkling its way through his brilliant brain, and he’s starting to get it: he can do _anything_. He can grab and squeeze and slap and no one will protest; no one will say anything at all. So why is he already bored? Why is he already wondering what it would take for these girls to say no, put up a fight, make him work for it?

To the curvy brunette he’s currently fingering, he says, “I want to fuck you in the ass.”

She giggles. “Okay,” she says. She has a European accent too -- Russian? “Anyone got poppers?”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Jan. “You know me. I’m always prepared.”

Dennis watches with interest as Jan produces a tiny brown glass bottle and cracks it open under the brunette girl’s nose; she sniffs, throws back her head, and moans so hard it’s almost a scream. “Oh, fuck yeah,” she cries.

“What’s that?” says Dennis. “I want some.”

“You don’t want this,” says Jan. “It’s just to relax your asshole.”

“Don’t you tell me what I don’t want,” Dennis yells. His brain is buzzing and his sinuses ache. “You don’t even _know_ me!” He’s ready to fight. He makes a fist. For the first time all night, his dick is hard.

But Jan just shrugs, weirdly calm. “Suit yourself,” he says. “Close your eyes. Get comfortable.”

Dennis closes his eyes, and suddenly there’s -- warm, wet, warm wet _suction_ \-- someone’s mouth is on his dick. Sucking it. Christ, it feels good. But is it Jan? If he opens his eyes, it might be Jan. If he keeps them closed, it doesn’t have to be.

There’s a whiff of something chemically sweet, and a voice says “Sniff,” and Dennis sniffs, and--

“Oh. _Oh_.” It’s a head rush, like he just stood up too fast after hanging upside down. Whoosh! He laughs.

And now there’s a finger in his ass. Is _that_ Jan?

“More,” says Dennis, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. “Oh, Jesus, that feels so good. More. Please.” The finger presses deeper into his hole, and then there’s another finger working its way in, spreading him open, filling him up, and, _fuck_ , why hasn’t Dennis been doing this all along? What’s the point of a blowjob _without_ a finger up the ass? He’s so close, he’s going to--

“Jan,” he says, “I’m going to--”

 _Knock knock knock knock knock_. It’s at the front door and it’s so insistent, Dennis can hear it even over the music. He opens his eyes.

It’s not Jan sucking his dick; it’s a girl. She pulls her mouth off him and says, “Someone’s at the door.”

It’s not Jan fingering his ass, either; it’s another girl, who pulls her fingers out of him and says, “Did you just call me Jan?”

“Well, I don’t know your name,” Dennis barks. Jan isn’t even in the room anymore. Dennis leaps off the bed, clumsily climbs into his jeans and shirt in case it’s the landlord or something -- no time for underwear or socks, though there’s always time for more vodka, which he grabs and swigs on his way into the living room. There’s Jan, dancing with two girls. How many girls _are_ there in the apartment? Dennis looks around to get a head count -- and that’s when he sees Mac.

Mac is here. Mac and Charlie are both here. They’re crouching on the fire escape, peering in through the window. Mac is looking _right at Dennis_ , and Dennis suddenly feels so good, so vodka-hammered and coke-sparkling and gorgeous, that he finds himself dancing up against Jan and the girls.

“Hey, Jan!” he yells. Can Mac hear him? Louder, he says, “This is awesome!” And then, at the top of his lungs: “IT’S MAKING ME FORGET THAT MAC EVER EVEN DIED!”

Jan gives him a funny look. “Just relax, roommate,” he says.

“I’m GONNA relax!” Dennis yells. He’s still hard. Can Mac see his cock through his jeans? “I’m gonna relax all over the place in a sec--”

 _Knock knock knock_. Oh. Right. Dennis finally opens the door and it’s _Dee_ , goddamn _Dee_ of all people, of _course_ she’d have to show up and spoil the party. “What do you want?” he snaps, but he’s so angry, blood is pounding in his ears, drowning out her answer; he can’t hear a word she’s saying, though the shrillness of her voice is giving him a headache. “NO TALKING!” he yells. “No talking and GO!” What is he saying? She’s ruining everything, even his ability to form sentences. “Goddamn it!” he cries and slams the door in her face. _Fuck_.

“Sorry about her,” Dennis says to Jan, trying to peer past him to see if Mac is still in the window. It’s hard to tell; it’s so dark outside. “She’s a bag lady--” He’s grinding his teeth and it makes it hard to talk. With some effort, he unclenches his jaw. “I hate her.”

Jan is still dancing, unbothered. “Dennis, which one do you want first?” he asks, indicating the two chicks dancing beside him. “Greta, or Sasha?”

“Oh, _shit_.” Dennis’s heart is vibrating against his ribcage and he doesn’t know if he wants to burst into tears or punch Mac in the face -- no, Jan, his name is Jan, punch _Jan_ in the face -- or just do some more coke. “Why’d you do that, bro?”

“What?”

“You said their names! Come on, man! That kills it for me!”

Jan steps to the side and Dennis sees that Mac and Charlie are still there in the window. He remembers to breathe.

“This is great and all,” says Dennis, managing to keep his eyes on Jan instead of Mac. “But I was really hoping for something a little...kinkier.”

Jan smiles. He smells different now, sweaty and masculine.

“Kinky,” says Jan. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I like this. I like this.” He studies Dennis’s face. “You like this?”

Dennis nods. Sex he can disappear into. Sex that swallows him up like a black hole. _This is twisted_.

“We both like this,” says Jan, and Dennis swallows and nods again.

In the window, Mac’s face is slack-jawed and stricken. Dennis starts laughing and can’t stop.

*

They bump more coke in the limo on the way to Paddy’s. “How the hell did you get us a limo?” Dennis asks Jan, but he doesn’t listen to the answer because he doesn’t actually give a shit. The girls and Dennis’s brain and teeth are chattering. There’s a girl on his lap and he’s fondling her tits with one hand and his other arm is slung around Jan, who is pressed up against him in the backseat, so tight, so close to Dennis.

Jan’s voice is in Dennis’s ear, his breath warm and tickly against Dennis’s neck. “Is this what you wanted, Dennis?”

Dennis turns his head. Jan’s face is smooth and angular in the hard blue light of the limo. Jan’s mouth is right there.

“I want--” says Dennis.

“I’M YOUR FANCY BOY, FRANK!” screeches New Charlie, which is actually just Frank screeching while waving around a tiny mannequin dressed in Charlie’s clothes. When did this shit start? Dennis wouldn’t have agreed to pick up Frank if he’d known about New Charlie. Oh well. At least Frank and New Charlie brought another 8-ball, and their coke is much better.

“What do you want, Dennis?” Jan asks. His hand is on Dennis’s thigh.

“I--” says Dennis.

“I’VE BEEN BAD!” bleats New Charlie, and Frank pats the mannequin comfortingly on the head. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, New Charlie. Look, we’re here. Let’s just have a good time, okay?”

Frank is right: the limo is rolling to a stop in front of Paddy’s. Everybody clambers out of the car and into the bar. “This is _wunderbar_!” Jan exclaims, and Dennis trails after him, yelling, “Oh, I love it, I love it!” Already, there are two girls dancing up on him. He wraps an arm around each one’s waist and adds, “The only rule is DON’T TELL ME YOUR NAMES. I don’t want to know your--” Is he shouting again? He laughs to demonstrate that he’s having fun. “ _\--names_ , okay?”

“HI, I’M CHARLIE!” screeches New Charlie, and the girls scatter. “WE’RE GONNA HAVE DEMENTED SEX! RIGHT, FRANK?”

“Not with that mannequin around, we’re not,” Dennis mutters, looking around the room. Where did Jan go?

“Hey, don’t call my buddy the M-word.” Frank hugs the mannequin close. “Don’t listen to him, New Charlie.”

“IT’S OKAY, FRANK! DENNIS IS JUST PISSED OFF ’CAUSE MAC DIED BEFORE THEY COULD BANG!”

Dennis whirls around. “Fuck you, New Charlie,” he says and backhands New Charlie upside the head. Only when his knuckles knock against hard plastic does he realize he’s furious at a mannequin. Jesus, he needs another drink.

*

He’s fading in and out. One moment he’s behind the bar, sipping straight from the bottle of amaretto they keep on the top shelf -- Dee would flip her shit if she caught him at it, but she’s not here, is she? Where _is_ she? Why didn’t she tell him where she was going when she swung by earlier tonight? Why doesn’t anyone ever tell him anything? Why didn’t Mac and Charlie include him in their fake suicide pact? Why didn’t Mac--

A moment later he’s on the other side of the bar, with no memory of how he got here, watching two girls kiss each other. He’s transfixed. They’re kissing each other right out here in the open, in front of the whole party, even though they’re both girls, even though Dennis can see them -- _everyone_ can see them! Don’t they know? They don’t care. They’re beautiful. They’re so beautiful!

“Jan,” he hears himself say.

Jan appears at Dennis’s side. (There’s a girl at Dennis’s side, too, he notices vaguely. Her hands caress his chest, his shoulder. How long has she been there? He shoos her away like she’s a bug.)

Jan claps a warm hand on Dennis’s shoulder. Dennis is so beautiful.

“This is what I want, man,” says Dennis, nodding toward the hot lesbians. As soon as the words are out of his mouth he knows them to be true -- why was it so hard to say them in the first place? _This is what I want._

“Shh,” says Jan, smiling, rubbing Dennis’s shoulder. “Look. I have this very kinky surprise for you, my friend.”

“Oh yeah?” It’s real, it’s happening, it’s hard for Dennis to breathe.

“Yeah,” says Jan. “I’ve arranged for you to use…” He winks. “The glory hole!”

Dennis’s head spins like he just did a popper. “Oh my god,” he says. Of _course_. Why didn’t he think of it before? If they do it through the glory hole, they won’t know it’s each other. They won’t be themselves. So it’ll be nothing. It’s genius! Jan is -- Dennis is a genius! And so beautiful. He can’t stop smiling. He feels like glitter.

“Totally anonymous,” says Jan.

“Jan,” says Dennis. He can’t think of any more words. “There are no words, man” -- and then he’s touching Jan, hugging Jan, his dick is hard against Jan, whose mouth is _right there_.

“Go on, Dennis,” Jan’s mouth says before Dennis can kiss it. “Go get what you want.”

*

Dennis is already rock hard when he walks into the bathroom, but he takes a moment to stroke his dick anyway, staring at the duct-taped hole in front of him. He fights the impulse to peek over the partition. The whole point is not to see.

He closes his eyes, jacks himself a little harder. The whole point is someone’s mouth on his dick and it could be anyone’s mouth, which basically means it’s no one’s mouth, which basically means it’s not happening. Just a disembodied tongue licking around the head, just warmth and wetness and suction. Just a hole. Nothing.

He’s going to come into his own hand if he doesn’t stick his dick in the wall soon. Now or never.

The hole is low; he has to crouch a little to line up his dick with it. The hole doubles in his vision and his hands fumble and his quads go hot from squatting. He looks down and sees his own naked thighs, white and slender and tight-muscled.

_I’d never say it to his face, but…_

Dennis closes his eyes and pushes his dick through the hole.

He waits. Waits for Mac’s mouth. No, for Jan’s mouth. No, for no one’s mouth. Fuck. He grips the top of the partition, presses his forehead against the cold wall.

“Hey, honey,” he says to the wall. “You want to take care of this monster for me, or what?”

When he hears a voice say _There is no way I can picture that is a girl_ , it takes him a second to realize it’s not coming from inside his head.

*

The rest passes in a blur: Frank’s face through the hole, saying “This is bad.” Dennis running around the bar, shoving girls, screaming “Get your European sex-freaky asses out of the bar!” Jan at his side, helping -- this makes Dennis even angrier.

“You sex freak,” Dennis spits at Jan. “GO!”

“What did I do?” Jan asks, and for a second his face looks wounded in a way that reminds Dennis of Mac. Just for a second. Then he’s out the door.

“Sick freak,” says Dennis to the door. _This is twisted_. He hates Jan. He hates his father. He hates the entire continent of Europe. Then Mac and Charlie and Dee show up, and he hates Mac more than anything else in the world.

“Why were you guys pretending that you were dead?” Dennis demands. “That’s a really messed-up thing to do.” But he doesn’t listen to Mac’s answer. Mac looks like _shit_ , even more so than usual. Two black eyes. Face bruised and battered and scabbed. His lip is cut up. And Dennis can smell him across the bar. He still smells like Mac. Or like the homeless version of Mac. Sweaty. Dirty. Ridiculously dirty.

“ _P.S._ ,” says Frank, reading from Mac’s dad’s letter. “ _I still love you_.”

Everyone is silent.

“Oops,” says Mac.

“I jizzed in your duster,” Dennis blurts out.

Mac looks over at Dennis, frowning. “Huh?” His busted-up eyes widen. “Dennis, your nose is bleeding!”

*

They have to walk home, Mac and Dennis, since the limo is long gone. Putting one foot in front of the other has never been such a chore; the streets of Philadelphia have never felt so long or so dark. Still, somehow, they manage -- Mac limping from the car crash, Dennis with a fistful of cocktail napkins wadded up against his bloody nose. Mac checks out their reflection in a parked car window and says excitedly, “I bet people think we were just in a fight.”

“Well, we kind of were,” says Dennis.

Mac tilts his head like a dog. “Wait, what?”

“Nothing,” says Dennis. “Forget it. I’ve been drunk for like seventy-two hours.”

“Sweet, dude,” says Mac.

Finally, miraculously, they make it back to the apartment. Dennis’s front door key is sticky with -- oh, god, it’s snot. Not just his own. How many people bumped off his key in the limo? Why did that seem like a good idea at the time? He wipes his hand on the back of Mac’s T-shirt. Mac giggles -- actually giggles -- at the touch.

“Man, it’s good to be home,” says Mac.

“Yeah, well,” says Dennis. “Jan’s probably in your room right now.”

“Oh.” Mac goes quiet and still.

“Whatever,” says Dennis. “You can sleep in my bed tonight.”

Dennis goes to the bathroom to wash the crusted blood off his nose and slurp some water from the faucet. He returns to find Mac standing in the doorway of Dennis’s bedroom, staring openmouthed at the disaster scene before him. The empty vodka and champagne bottles tipped over on the floor. The still-powdery baggies and discarded straws. The tangled bedsheets, scattered with pubes and popper vials, still visibly wet in spots from sweat and booze and pussy.

“Holy shit,” says Mac. “What the hell did I miss?”

Dennis slams Mac against the doorframe and kisses him on the mouth.

Mac kisses back almost immediately -- his lips are soft, his jaw rough with stubble -- and tongues eagerly into Dennis’s mouth. Dennis tastes blood, from his own nose or Mac’s cut or the force of that first kiss, he’s not sure. He pulls back and licks Mac’s lip from the outside and then plunges his tongue back in. His hands slide under Mac’s loose T-shirt, feeling Mac’s warm skin. His nails rake along Mac’s back and Mac shudders in his arms.

“Whoa,” says Mac. “Wow.” He grinds against Dennis and Dennis can feel that Mac is already hard. “We’re doing this, huh?”

“Shut up,” says Dennis, grabbing a fistful of Mac’s T-shirt and pulling him to the bed. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

They collapse together onto the disgusting bed. The room spins. They kiss some more. Their shirts come off and Dennis runs his hands all over Mac’s chest, sniffing Mac’s skin, licking it, burying himself in the familiar smell of home. Dennis unzips his own fly and takes out his cock and frantically jacks it one-handed; Mac reaches out and touches the head, tentatively, experimentally, and Dennis lets him. He’s so goddamn exhausted, it’s a struggle to keep his eyes open, but he doesn’t want any of this to disappear.

 _Suck it_ , he tries to say, but what comes out of his mouth instead is, “Say my name.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Say it.”

“Dennis,” says Mac. His voice cracks on it.

“Say it again.”

“ _Dennis_.”

“Mac,” says Dennis, looking hard into Mac’s eyes; he’s so close, so close, he’s never in his life been so desperate to come. “Don’t leave me again,” says Dennis, and then he closes his eyes and comes, spurting hot and thick and pearl-white all over his fist and Mac’s fingers and the ruined sheets.

Dennis collapses backward. His eyes fall shut. What a goddamn day it’s been.

(Somewhere above him, Mac is laughing and saying, “Did you really miss me, dude?”)

Dennis wonders how much of this he’ll remember tomorrow. It might be better if he blacks it all out, if the whole night disappears down the memory hole and he wakes up with nothing left of it.

(From what feels like very far away, Mac is saying, “Hey, wake up, asshole! I want to get off too!”)

Still -- Dennis blindly nuzzles his cheek against what seems to be Mac’s thigh -- part of him hopes he’ll hang on to something. The warmth of Mac’s body. The way his name cracked in Mac’s mouth. The sound of his own beautiful voice, saying Mac’s name.

(“ _Dennis!_ ”)

Something like that.


End file.
